Pitch Black
by J.A. Carlton
Summary: Sometimes War begins with a Whimper. Dean, taken by force while researching small town disappearances,is kept brutalized and alone, the motives and identity of his torturer unknown. He must escape on his own, or die by someone else's hand. HURT!DEAN
1. Chapter 1

** possible graphic violence, maybe some language. **

Pitch Black – sn fic. chpt 1.

By: sifi

Disclaimer – you can't see it, but it's raising its hand

Love – Ever Present.

--

_...help me... please... someone..._ breath snagged out of his throat in the same way the undergrowth snagged the raw, jaggedly torn flesh of his naked torso and arms, well the one he could still coerce into pulling him along the needle carpeted, decaying forest floor. The other, his left continued to spasm, to flop and twitch as if possessed, each motion a throb so deep he could barely remember to breathe when it struck. Blood marked his passage as he dragged himself along through the dark. Surrounded by blackness that felt as empty and alone as his heart he wondered if he could have walked, then knew he couldn't. He was already doing everything he could.

In his fevered delirium he thought about calling out, begging aloud instead of just inside his head for help, for rescue, for someone to come and save him, _so long as it's not Sam... anyone but my boy... or my girl... wouldn't want her to end up like this either... that'd be bad..._ dried brittle pine needles slid under his fingernails but he barely felt them. _Heh...she'd prob'ly kill 'em. _

The darkness spun around him, the only saving grace was that he couldn't see it, but he could feel it, that was for sure.

_Just gotta rest for a minute... just a minute is all..._ as he collapsed, the sensation of something sliding between the layers of his flesh via one of the myriad slices over his chest and belly did not go unnoticed. In response a grunt slid from his cracked and bloody lips as whatever it was slid sideways, deflected from his exhausted heart by his breastbone. As it slid beneath the skin, rubbing against either bone or muscle, but with his weight atop it, the thing cracked, splintering jagged edges into raw and exposed nerve endings that had more important things to do at the moment than to feel pain. _Hell no... that'll come later... if I survive..._ he snorted a chuckle then gasped for the agony it caused. A paroxysm of coughing doused him in flames as a particle of floral debris tumbled crookedly into him, choking him as it tried to enter his lung.

_Got offered a choice once... _he remembered somewhere deep inside but couldn't place the specifics, _stay and become one of them... or go... leave it to someone else... I'm ready now I think... really... please... could you come back? please?_

Fever stole his dreams, turning, twisting and perverting them, but the reality remained and while he clutched, bit and breathed the earth beneath him, the first of his bit of hell replayed in his mind, _mmm popcorn would be good... and raisinets... good combo...oooh I know that guy... hey! that's ME!_

--

_Oh my God!...that ungh!... that... oh my...I, I, can't...nuaahhhh_, he screamed, his body trying to fold for the pain, his breath tearing from his lungs until every inch of him burned, "STOOOOP!" he screamed, panting, _this is worse than the cabin... this is worse than the CAR..._

"Stop? Now why would I do that?" she asked standing before him, the tip of the four inch nail between her fingers pressed hard against the exposed flesh of his inner forearm.

"Cause I asked you to?" he panted, his lip curling upward feeling the heavy dripping from his hair, running down his neck, he shook his pounding head as salt from his pink sweat burned his eye, "Please..." he added watching out the corner of his eye as she drew to a halt, holding the point of the nail at the crease of his elbow.

"Say it again..." she licked her ruby painted lips.

"Please stop," he breathed feeling his heart hammering, heat burning from inside. His left hand spasmed against the wet dank brick where she'd sunk the first nail into him, fire burned up the path of his nerves or veins, either way it didn't matter, it hurt like hell and he was relatively certain it wasn't going to stop any time soon.

"No," she pressed the tip of the nail into his elbow, leaning deep into it, watching it sink into his skin, feeling it press against bone, then begin to crack the outer shell. She watched his naked chest heave beneath the rivers of sweat that poured out of him, she listened to him scream and pant, then luxuriated in it as the mewling started. _So it begins..._ she smiled, this was her forte, this was what she did best. The first strike had been fast, sharp, hard, and just to make sure she had his full attention. This one was for pleasure.

The groan grew out of him as she pressed her palm to the flat nail head and grinned watching his face twist, his body writhe, his blood run as she leaned harder feeling the point pierce the bone finally.

"I'm gonna rip your goddamned heart out and eat it for breakfast you bitch!" he screamed just before she bent her own elbow and thrust the nail the rest of the way through his until the point stopped against the stone behind him.

"I don't think so," she smirked holding the hammer up before his eyes again, grinning as he shook his head, his beautiful luminous green eyes nearly glowing with fear.

"No! No don't... please..." he ground his teeth feeling himself light on fire once again until the metallic 'clinking' was drowned out by the screaming both within his head, and rolling around the dank oubliette he'd awoken within.

Every twitch of his pinned hand, every muscle spasm rubbed raw nerves, each giving rise to another until his arm shook from his pierced palm all the way to the elbow, jerking of its own accord, _it's like a fish flopping around on a dock..._ he thought with distant wonder. Vision blurred for the blood laced rivers that flowed unceasingly down his head, seeking it seemed to blind him with his own body's salt and he wondered if the brackets that held him to the wall by his wrists, ankles and neck were actually there at all, _If I squint my eyes just right... yeah like that... it looks like there's nothing there... maybe I could just..._ he tried to pull away, his body held in place by the nails he'd almost forgotten about, until another fiery lance shot up his arm making his teeth chatter and giving rise to another volley of pins and needles inside, _Oh yeah... I got a fever in the making... I got a fever of a hundred and three... c'mon baby do you do more than dance... hot blooded, I'm hot blood ded... yeah... what's dead should stay dead... I shoulda been dead so many times that this almost actually makes sense... but where's Sam? Please let him be safe... please if there's anything out there, or up there, or anything that gives a damn... please let Sammy be safe..._ he nodded against the sharpened edge of the bracket that held his neck to the wall while the thought of anyone doing something like this to his baby brother began to fill him with panic.

"What the hell do you want?" he asked breathless, feeling a run of hot sour bile in the back of his throat, _don't think about it... don't think about it and I won't puke... oh my GOD it freakin' hurts!_

Faster than Dean could have guessed, the hammer came down almost perfectly between the nail in his palm and the newest addition at his elbow. His radius snapped under the force of the blow but the nails held fast, shooting spear-like agony up his arm. His knees trembled, nausea rose up into his throat and he was fairly certain his entire nervous system had just misfired.

"Ooh God... Oh my God... you psychotic fuh... aaahhh," he strained, "you don't know what you're doing!" he ground through chattering teeth.

His heart skipped several beats while breath locked in his throat then burst out with a surprised bark, it seemed even the motion of breathing was going to conspire against him now. Around him the world went hazy and he wondered what was going to happen if he passed out. _Oh yeah... this is so many levels of not good... Sammy... if you're crazy enough to come for me and not here already... be careful. Shoot to kill little brother. Please, shoot to kill._

--

"It's okay, drink... it's just water..." she assured him while tilting the cup to his dry cracking lips. His eyes flicked over her face, a quick measure of whether or not she was telling the truth even though he had little choice.

"Too bad... wouldn't mind a shot of whiskey or ten right about now..." he muttered, to his chagrin making her smile softly as he swallowed down the slightly cool fresh water. "Oh God that's good..." he gasped, _I never tasted anything so wonderful in my life..._ he smiled, then groaned and shuddered as a shiver ran through him. His left arm throbbed, hot and swollen and stretching under the skin where his body was working on fixing the wounds as best as it could. _Oh man... please let me get out of here before infection sets in... I can't cock a shotgun with only one arm... _

"Why are you doing this?" he ground through a wave of nausea, the small sips of water not sitting well in his tummy, though he knew he probably couldn't stay conscious if he threw up. Slowly he breathed through his mouth, focusing on keeping it down. Besides, he needed the fluid to continue to survive.

She smiled softly, her eyes closed as caressed his cheek tenderly, "Someone has to, but don't feel bad... you're not the only one..."

"What?" he breathed, _She knows about Sam... Oh man... please no... not my Sammy... don't think about him, just in case she's got some freaky power of her own, I can't think about him, it'll put him in jeopardy..._ "... is that supposed to make me feel _better_?" he asked angrily. _Who's gonna be left to fight? Don't you know there's a WAR on you freak! _

His memories of each of the nights that brought each of the armies into his world were hazy at best. The first night because he was doped up and being tortured by an imposter creature that had made a suit out of the stuff of his little brother. That was the thing that opened a gateway between worlds that had loosed an unseen plague into their universe. That memory was followed by another, the one that still made his heart ache, his brother, so distraught, so agonized, so nearly crushed by despair that he'd been seconds away from putting a bullet into his brain made him shudder and subsequently sent another flaring rocket of hot throbbing up his arm, "Guuuuh...please... you don't know what you're doing!"

Then there was the night at the cemetery when Jake opened the gates to hell and a slab of quartz took a chunk from his skull. That was also the night his father's spirit distracted the demon bastard just long enough for Dean to put the last of Samuel Colt's own bullets into it, ending one family quest but beginning another.

That night he'd watched an army of demons unleashed onto the world and he knew whatever was to come, this time it was for keeps, he could feel it in his bones.

She stepped closer, her eyebrows furrowed and those ruby painted lips pursed, she smiled tracing her hand down his neck, over his chest to his trembling belly, _Great... bitch nails me to a freakin' wall, and now she's gonna tickle me too! That's just wrong!_ She leaned in, her lips warm and full against his cheek. He felt a tiny pull of her mouth against his skin and did his best to keep the disgust from his expression.

--

tbc.

please r&r

Thanks.

sifi


	2. Chapter 2

Pitch Black – chpt 2

by: sifi

--

"OOOooooaaaahhhhh..." rolled faintly through his cell, the lamenting alto cry brought goose flesh with it into the chill darknesss.

"No!" he breathed snapping his eyes open and peering with a deep scowl into the velvet shadows, _No, it couldn't be... it can't be... please no..._ his head strained against the bracket holding his neck, his ear turned toward the grate in the ceiling as the near howl faded beneath the sound of something cutting air.

His teeth clamped down on his lips to keep him from calling out, to find out if the owner of that ringing voice was his baby brother, _Please don't let it be Sam! He's smart! and strong! and he's good, no way he'd be careless enough to get caught. I'm pretty good and I got caught, but I wasn't on my guard, shoulda been, but wasn't, Sam'd know to keep his guard up. It CAN'T be him_. But he craned forward just the same, metal cutting into the topmost layers of the skin under his chin as a muffled panting voice stumbled through the air. _Might be...so hard to tell though, _pain registered in the weakness behind the indecipherable words, pain AND fear before a more dulcet, higher pitched and unstrained voice made soothing sounds. _Please don't let it be Sam...I hope to hell he stays away, I hope to hell that's not my boy and..._

"Deeeeaaaannn! Aaaahhhhhung," rolled into his cell once more.

"Nuho God..." _Was it? No...Yes! DAMNIT! I can't tell! How can I NOT KNOW?! _he choked on a sudden spring of tears while ice stabbed through his heart, the rush of his blood building pressure in his ears cut any other sound no matter how hard he listened for it, _Don't say it! Don't call his name! Don't, whatever you do don't do it! It'll only make it worse for him, that bitch'll kill him! I'm gonna..._ the image of his hand swinging the hammer, claw side down into her face, just under the bone of her forehead and the satisfaction he would get upon pulling it up, ripping her skull apart with her own tool brought a cold smile to his lips before his stomach clenched, repulsed less by the savagery of the act he envisioned, than the satisfaction to be had from it.

"No!...No, no, no, I gotta get outta here... I gotta get the hell out of here," _I gotta get US the hell out of here!_ He glanced to the left grunting as he jerkily moved his fingers, forcing them to work, the pulley system in his hand firing wildly as it rubbed the steel that pierced him. A fresh layer of sweat broke over him, dripping from his hair to 'plink' onto his shoulders then run down his back or chest as he panted through the flares of pain. A gentle pull against the nail in his palm brought stinging sparkles to his vision, _I don't have a choice, just... fast, no!_ he pulled again wondering if he could slide the nail from the stone or mortar behind him. _Slow then, slow... a little more pressure god please..._ he panted. _No, it's gotta be fast, I don't know if it'll come out of the wall or what, but I have to..._ he could feel his resolve faltering for the myriad agonies and shock setting in. If he let shock have its way, he would never escape and he and Sam would die in separate cells at the hands of unknown enemies. _Dad would never forgive me for letting us die like this! I can't let him down._ One more time he pulled his palm taut against the underside of the nail, tensing everything he could despite the slow fire it ignited. He breathed hard, his energy focusing, channeling, until his lungs couldn't fill any further then held his breath and summoned his will to twist his torso with all he had, to the right.

--

He wasn't certain whether he'd lost consciousness or just awareness, either way it must've been something substantial. He came to realize in the faint light that he wasn't alone.

"Guh?" he groaned rolling his head until he felt the shallow slicing under his chin again, "shit..." he grunted remembering now. He turned his head to the left surprised at the bulging purple appendage that hung partially on the nail. "Uhnuh..." his throat stung closed against his failure. He'd only succeeded in making his situation worse by the looks of things, _Way to go genius! What the hell kinda candy ass can't even...Awww Come ON! Who the hell am I? Freakin' Superman? Cut me some slack!_ infuriated he turned pulling again, grinding his teeth against the howl that wanted to shatter him.

"Easy there tiger, you manage to pull free and you're gonna make me look bad..." she rose from a small table in the far corner that hadn't been there before he lost awareness.

He could make out a pair of pliers, some oddly shaped scissors, a piece of wood and a gray colored coil he didn't need to see up close to identify.

_I failed, again, _"What the hell're you doing?" he asked slowly through the proverbial chill ran up his spine, _Holy crap...it is. It's freakin' barbed wire... that can't be good..._ he swallowed hard into a stomach that twisted nervously inside.

She bent down, picked up her hammer and rooted around for another nail then swaggered toward him.

"It's obvious you need something else to think about... I wish I could give you my exclusive attention, but I'm afraid there are others who require my... skills. I think you know one of 'em, or he sure knows you... Dean. Dark haired guy, positively delicious build... mmm, so sweet..." she moaned rolling her eyes while the tip of her tongue slid over her lips.

Sweat poured down his face and neck, _just don't pass out again dumbass, I got a feeling I won't like what I find when I wake up next time,_ "Doesn't ring a bell...look, whatever you're thinking about doing... you don't have to, really... you've got my undivided attention... honest..." he swallowed hard, nodding nervously against the wall while a tight smile pleaded on his lips.

Only inches away she set the hammer and nail down on the floor then pressed her hands to his chest sliding her crimson fingernails over his belly and into the waistband of both his jeans and boxers.

"Hah look... I'm flattered... really... and you know... under... oh hell..." he licked his lips grimacing with fear as her hand slid down the flat of his abdomen, her nails raking across his tenderness before her fingers wrapped around, "...uh whatever you're thinking of doing... please don't... I'll beg..." _Oh shit..._ he bit back the sudden wave of nausea that came after his heart stopped, frozen in his chest for the span of several beats before taking off at a dead run. He swallowed against the pounding back of his throat vibrating in time with that thoroughbred beat.

She smiled beatifically, her lips millimeters from his, "I know you would..." she squeezed until tears came from his eyes then shoved his manhood aside. Breath returned to him slowly as her fingers moved to the crease of his groin seeking his femoral pulse. With another movement her arm slid up to the shoulder down his pants while her hand felt his left thigh, her fingers seeming to search for something specific.

On the outside of his jeans her other hand held the place the one inside had found and she withdrew her arm. She knelt on the floor, the hand that had been down his pants before her face, fingers splayed as she licked them one by one, "Deeeeeeelicious..." she purred then smiled placing the nail between the fingers that marked the spot. She picked up the hammer and twirled it in her hand grinning up at waxy pallor of his face. _Lock the knees, don't fall, don't... oh my God no please! WHY! WHY IS SHE DOING THIS?!_

"Please don't, pleasedon't pleasdon't, Please!" he shook his head feeling dizzy and breathless as she smiled, checked the angle on the nail and with careful aim, sunk the steel into him with two strikes.

On her knees on the floor, before her subject, she closed her eyes, leaned back and with her arms spread open let the voice of his pain wash over her.

--

Waves of warm fuzzy heat blanketed him, then withdrew, fanning him with cold as something soft tickled his face near his eyebrow. It was probably one of the few places he actually didn't hurt.

"Muuuhng?" he grunted then heard the sound of something quadrupedal skitter away, _damn! hungry... I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date...oooh nono! bad bunny down the hole..._ in the back of his head he heard some inane cartoon voice saying, _'Elelator go down the hooooole...'_ and he bit into the earth to keep from laughing. His hand hurt too much to bite. "Pfflllthhh," he dribbled bits of dirt and pine needles and something squirming, out of his mouth. His tongue flicked out, fingers of his right hand finding the squirming thing, scooting it back into his hungry maw where his teeth ground it into fuel.

Slowly he craned his head, straining his eyes toward 'up' but it was useless. Night was all around him and the trees blotted out the sky. He couldn't even tell if the moon was up or what phase it was in.

He closed his right fist into the ground and pulled, willing his feet to scramble, his legs to work. "Aahhaaaoooowch..." he growled upon moving his left leg, the sensation of being pinned somehow reminding him of the straits he was in.

He and Sam had split up in the morning, Sam taking County Records since it was housed in the same building as the Sheriff's station, and Dean taking the library, checking their periodicals by hand since they hadn't been considerate enough to archive them all on the internet.

He thought for a moment... but hope slid out of his grasp as the visual of his cell phone crushed beneath the a well struck blow from a studded flail made him nod. It was the same instrument that had left an undoubtedly huge and agonizing, and maybe even deadly bruise on his right thigh. _Nails in the left of me, flails in the right here I am... stuck in the middle with you... stuck in the middle with... ouch... pain,... no more singing, I don't feel like singing anymore,_ he felt his toes grab earth and push him forward, his right arm buckling beneath his chest before he pushed.

Bone ground against bone while muscles screamed and stretched, bending, twisting dryly, each movement tearing painfully in some place as he pushed himself to his knees, adjusting to the stretch, adjusting to the new position. Too many sensations to catalog, too many to do anything other than let them wash over him and try to simply endure. Slowly, sitting on his heels, his right leg and the numbing trauma from the flail stretched and the muscle fibers breathed, painful, burning but almost a little better though he couldn't say the same for his left. The muscle and tendon around the spike of steel tore and bled both inside and out. Wet warmth seeped upward through the thighs of his jeans, touching the ooze from the hole in the palm of his hand like some curious creature with a will of its own.

He breathed, rolled his head on his neck and straightened his back just enough to feel a sickening grinding and twisting of something that wasn't supposed to be there, under his skin. _Oooh...eeeew, what is it? what IS it?_ he thought in a near panic. He began to tremble and slapped at his chest as cold night air pressed in on him, chilling the layers of waxy oils that coated his exposed skin. Even his feet were cold, _get it out of me! whatever it is! I gotta get it out of me!_ panic inched forward as his fingers touched his chest and felt something within the layers of skin. _Oh God it's moving! it's moving please tell me it's not moving... the rats! No... too thin to be a rat... eew God what IS IT!_ an urgent mewl drew out while his fingers found the edge of the hole but the skin was too raw. The slightest brush against the curled flesh felt like the burning of a match head against him and as much as he wanted to reach in there... he couldn't bring himself to. _I gotta get help... won't someone please help me? I don't know where my brother is! I swear I'll come back for you Sammy, I'll get help and we'll come back for you, just hang on... please!_ he begged. _Gotta move, gotta move for Sam... I know he would've come, I know he would have, and he's in there somewhere, I gotta help Sammy...gotta save my boy..._ he leaned forward using his good right arm to brace himself as he slowly tried to force his body to get him to his feet. His heart pounded in his chest with the effort, blood and sweat ran over him and his breath came in small choked puffs. Whimpers colored the night with the thought of his baby hurting like this, being put through what that bitch had done to him, and a sob popped free to caper away. The sudden image of Sam wrapped from head to toe in blankets the day he was brought home, that same image that was his first memory of the life he'd been entrusted with, made his eyes swim and his mouth bow down, shaking, "Gah Sam...SAMMY!" he screamed into the night then pawed the grime from his face. He sniffed his desperation back, for his boy, he could get up.

Sharp pointy things poked and bit at his bare feet as he took his first tentative step with his right arm flailing in front of him, feeling the darkness. _Move...c'mon move...up..._ he leaned forward, toes dragging under the forest detritus where cold things wriggled between them, many of them drawn toward the surface in the hopes of moisture from the recent rains. He set the ball of his foot down, each motion piling new muscle onto the fire that burned in his thigh where that other nail resided, _I should pull it out... I should... my leg would work..._ he thought shifting his weight, his teeth clenched and grinding, his uncertain pleas wordless beyond his screaming mind _no one's gonna help me... no one's gonna come, and why should they? What if... what if I deserve this? What if I'm supposed to die alone? No! No one deserves to die like this... not EVEN me, no matter how often I've blown it, gotta move... gotta get help_. His throat worked against the dust he felt inside as he changed his tactic and tried to hop his right leg forward, _after all... it's just bruised right? I stretched it a bit... got some blood to the area right? right? Pull the nail out! Will I ever NOT feel this again? Feels like a blowtorch... gotta save Sam... need to move... mmm pecan pie would be so good... with a nice big glass of milk... some middle 'o nowhere greasy spoon with incredible Pecan Pie... man a sugar bomb in the belly, oh GOD yes! mmm c'mon Sam we'll go get pie... can't we just BE THERE already?..._ his left foot dragged the earth again, the overstuffed sausages of his fingers trembled, his nails flicking absently at the edge of the nail head through his jeans.

A shift in his weight, a spasm of his left arm snagged the piece of steel in his leg, twisting his left hand, tearing open the greenish seal that had formed on both sides of the hole, his broken radius shot an angry firebolt straight up his arm and into his left ear, leaving a furious blast of napalm behind in his elbow. The left knee caved to the embers that burned within, the right leg hopped forward to compensate, to keep him up but the crushed muscles were too slow.

"Ungh..." his right arm came down in front of him as did his mangled left. He would've sworn a glass rod was shattering lengthwise into his shoulder and up into itself. Dean bit his tongue, tasting blood as his teeth chattered and his body blazed in a spectacular white nova of fire. Consciousness retreated to what it thought was a safer place.

--

tbc.

Please R&R.

Thank You.

sifi .


	3. Chapter 3

Pitch Black – chpt 3.

by: sifi

--

"Look at me or I'll swing this at that handsome face, maybe take out one of those pretty green eyes," she admonished nodding as his eyes popped open, and his attention turned fully back to her. "That's better."

"Are you ever gonna tell me why you're doing this? Isn't it like... one of the bylaws in the villain's handbook or something?" his lips trembled, trying to turn upward, trying to be for himself what he would have been able to be for Sam or their father.

She smiled, almost gently with those scarlet lips of hers and moved to stand before him, her eyes the mirror to his own, _God that's creepy... wonder if I'll ever be able to look myself in the mirror again... wonder if I'll live long enough to find out, _her skin was porcelain bisque and her platinum colored hair framed her face in Shirley Temple curls, _she looks like a doll...look Sam! s'one of the dolls, you know from the Pierpont? s'alive now... he loves to dress 'em up don't cha Sam?_ "Ssszzza..." his teeth clamped down on his tongue as his back twisted in a shiver drawing a deeper smile from his tormentor.

"What was that? Were you talking to someone?" she asked.

"Ssza 'lil chilly down here... can't seem to remember where I left my jacket... musta been a helluva party..." he chattered from under the fuzzy blanket of fever that cocooned him.

"Mmm," she nodded, "It IS a bit chilly down here... I could light a fire..."

"Nohn't go t'trouble on my account... I'm not staying too long..." he smirked.

"Hmmm," she smiled skimming the carefully held barbed wire pieces across his stomach.

_Shake it off Dean, keep it together man! I guess it WAS a barbed wire cat-o-nine tails she was making after all. Heh, sick bitch, _he closed his eyes, pressing his head against the cool moist stone, every sensation but the low constant hum of fear at rest, at least for the moment.

Noting his diffuse awareness, or distant expression, or even maybe feeling that his fear had been diminished for the battles his body was already fighting, she grinned at him, winked and blew a kiss before tilting her head up toward a grate in the corner of the cell,

"Lower it down," she instructed.

Dean swallowed hard, as the sound of a metal deadbolt reminded him of the cells in Eddy Jay's underground play pit, then sent twisting shivers through him, _oh damn I never wanted to hear that sound again..._ The bolt slid open and the grate lifted up. At first he couldn't figure out what was being lowered through the opening, the light was so faint the very air was sepia and grainy, coupled with his dry gritty eyes the best he could make out was that it was flesh toned, wearing a pair of dark colored shorts, and he was tall with a head of dark hair that hid most of his face but not the gag over his mouth. Once more, Dean felt his heart stop though this time it almost refused to start again. His belly and bowels filled with hot tarry weight, _No, no! NO! That isn't... it can't be, is that the one who called my name? It could be a trick. It can't be Sam, it wouldn't be! Please whatever the hell may be up there do NOT let that be Sam!_ in the scant light it was almost impossible to tell, _What the hell is she gonna do?_ the body's descent stopped, suspended just a few feet in the air and Dean dared to take a breath. _Maybe it's NOT a person, maybe it's a mannequin or something yeah maybe that's what it is... I feel pretty puke-ish right now..._ his eyes flicked to the whip,_ what the hell is she gonna do with that thing?_ he felt himself shake his head inside, _Aaah no...please no. WHY is she doing this! Something Please TELL me that's not Mine, just some kind of sign please! _he begged silently. While her attention was focused elsewhere, his ankles began to work. He ground his teeth against the cutting pressure against them when he flexed and pulled, using his back, his neck, his everything he had some kind of control over, to try and start working the brackets out of the wall. _I hope to hell they're not anchored..._

Waxy cold sweat slithered snake-like down his body as the victim turned once more before stopping. When and if the poor bastard across from him awoke, they would be face to face. _Did he start out like me? _he wondered examining as much as he could, looking for what kind of damage may have already been done. Small streaks of blood became visible on his skin He leaned forward as much to put tension on the brackets as to get the best look possible, _IS it him? Damnit! I can't tell! Hey BITCH! You wanna let his arms down by his sides, maybe bring him a little closer so I can see his face? Gonna need glasses after this. Or better yet, turn up the light... no wait don't do that! _Fear thudded against his breastbone, _If that IS Sam I sure as hell don't want him to see how bad I'm hooked up here, at least not right off the bat, not till I can give him a heads' up, _Sharp cutting tension increased on the nails in his arm and the rapidly purpling area where the hammer had snapped his radius somehow became subject to the tension of his leaning, though oddly enough this gave him a little relief from that particular pain.

The air whistled as the ruby lipped bitch swung the home made whip, the barbs of the heavy wire sticking into the body of the man before him.

"NOOO! DON'T!" he screamed through the stutter of his heart beat as his eyes registered the movement just a moment too late. The barbs had sunk and the lungs of the man before him, gasping through only his nose bellowed like a freight train whistle, his head rolled back and a sound Dean hoped to never hear again echoed not only in the cell but in his memory as well. He remembered hearing his brother howl like that once, whipped with a bicycle chain spread eagle on his face, pinned by an unseen assailant to the floor while the chain fell again and again, again, ripping flesh and fracturing bone with Dean locked in a cell, burning from his own injuries, unable to lift a finger to help.

"NooOOooo! Don't you do that! DON'T! Please!" he cried in the grainy dimness.

The man was held motionless by the barbs still piercing his skin, sticking there, keeping him still, his eyes sqinched shut while his throat choked against the agonies of his flesh as the bitch's eyes flicked to Dean. Her lips turned up at the corners, she rocked backward with a grunt and yanked the nine strips of barbed wire free from the body, her eyes flashing brightly as the elder Winchester screamed his protest. His body pulled against his restraints in time with the cries of the younger man across from him, the one whose eyes he felt searching for his in the dimness despite barely holding onto consciousness. Dean's eyes closed just in time to feel something wet flick onto his face and stick there.

Footsteps slid across the dirt flooring, his lips curling back over his teeth, _What you do to me is one thing! So help me GOD if that's my brother bitch you are gonna be shitting that whip when I get through with you!_

"I snip some of the barbs so there's a variation in depth, I bend others so they grip the flesh better," she smiled, "...just enough."

Carefully, almost delicately she turned the sinister contraption, taming the springy pieces gently against the wooden handle despite her heavily gloved fingers. He could see marks on her forearms where the device had bitten her and secretly he delighted, _You're gonna get a helluva lot worse when all this is over with! If it's the last thing I do I'll see to it!_ he swore internally, his head turning to the side, his lips pressed together in a grimace while his teeth clenched. He recognized the posture and did his best to tighten everything he could against whatever part of him she might see fit to assault next.

Breath 'woosh'ed' from him as the stunning, and oddly pointed crushing sensation that had sat waiting patiently in the shadows of his awareness to be remembered above the other pains he'd endured, flared to life, _Oh yeah... the flail, right._ Numb heat zipped back and forth between his armpits and groin, and his eyes closed as he tried to breathe through the agony of the blunt end of the handle being rammed end on into the center of the bruise.

"Ow!" he grunted through clenched teeth, his eyes blazing into hers, hot with fury and burgeoning hatred.

She smiled recognizing the light of hate in his eyes and knew it was time to either move very carefully, or to get reckless. "Careful" was not a factor in her nature.

--

"Damnit Bobby don't you think I wish I knew!" Sam yelled rubbing his face with his palm. Over eight hours since his brother disappeared from the face of the earth, almost eleven since the last time they'd spoken, and he was verging on sick.

"God I know! ... I know... and I'm sorry! Hell I'd... wash his damned underwear by HAND for the next _year_ to find him!" he shook his head and shrugged, "I don't _know_! That's what I'm saying Bobby! Look we were doing some research on some local disappearances, I was at the hall of records, he was at the library. He finished with the microfilm and was just starting on the newspapers. He said he'd call when he was done or to meet him there if I finished first. That's what I'm saying! I WENT there and he was gone!" Sam stormed fisting his fingers through his hair feeling like he was spinning the Impala's wheels in a bog, "Of course we have! Ever since Jake opened the gate you KNOW we've been careful..." Sam scrubbed his face and forced himself to breathe, "... no, it's broken, I found some pieces of it in the alley behind the library," _and that's not all I found. _

Halfway through the room he and Dean had rented three days ago he wheeled toward the door, "I don't know!" he yelled furiously, "It's not the same! This is DEAN Bobby! DEAN! He doesn't run away! He doesn't go chasing his own boogeymen! it's not his style! It's not what he does! I'm the one who goes off half cocked NOT him! You know that!" he pinched away the tears that clouded his eyes.

_Something's wrong... something's whole worlds of wrong... damnit! damnit damnit! him and those stupid damned cell phones! Damnit Dean... why can't you keep one longer than a few months? Dude... _ but it wasn't the cell phone that had him worried. He reached into his jeans pocket, his hand closing around the small piece of metal, feeling its pokey places sticking his palm, but not too hard, then looked at it, _He never takes it off... his link to his patron, his own spirit... Jeez Dean and you're without it... help me find you! Help me help you... PLEASE..._ he swallowed a sob, "...if you find anything call me..." he choked then hung up before listening to yet another of Bobby's admonitions to be careful. "Yeah right... I'll do anything I _need_ to, he's my brother..." he felt his throat close on the last but the disconnected line lay without a response. He knew Bobby and Ellen were busy doing everything they could to track down and exorcise as many demons as possible, and that over the last year they'd become an information hub among other hunters that were out there. He also knew that all they could do from that far away was to keep their ears open for anything that might give him an idea of what happened to Dean.

Sam Winchester collapsed to the floor, his legs crossed under him, his big brothers' pendant in his right hand while he scrolled down the list of numbers in his phone book, just as he highlighted the one he was looking for his phone rang. He looked at the incoming number then breathed deep.

--

"NO PLEASE!" he called watching the battered and bloody body of his cell mate being drawn through the trap door in the ceiling, "At least tell me who he is!"

"Now why would it matter to you? What could you possibly do that would make any difference to that sad sack of a buck three ninety eight in salts and minerals huh?" she purred against his cheek, a few of the barbs of her home made torture device snagging his skin as she drew it across his chest.

"Well for one when I get out of here I can dedicate the gratification to him that I'm gonna get shoving that thing down your throat until you scream through your ass for mercy you bitch!"

She smiled nonplussed, "Hmmm, then what're you gonna do? Go see the grand canyon or something cause... otherwise it's just... an anticlimax now isn't it?" she smirked wrapping those lips around one of the fingers that had been down his pants. She groaned deeply before drawing it out and stepping back, her wrist moving in circles while the strips whistled through the air.

"Heh... don't make me get creative..." he sneered as she leaned forward grasping his jaw bone, her thumb and forefinger wedged at the hinge, feeling very much like warm pitons in either side as the pressure applied kept him from being able to bite. Slowly she pressed her mouth to his, her teeth grasping his lower lip and tugging just enough to get the point across.

"I could tear you open without a second's hesitation and feast on your flesh and screams Dean, you do know that don't you? By NOW?" she purred.

"What the hell kind of demon are you?" he breathed as her teeth sunk into the tender velvet underside of his lip.

Her scarlet mouth stretched against his, her teeth tearing a small bit of him as she let go and looked at him, her tongue flicking out once more, this time with a bit of his very own flesh visible on it before she swallowed it down with a smile.

"Demon? DEEmon? Ahh Dean... now is that anything to call a lady of MY stature?" she asked.

He hadn't noticed but her grip on the home made device had shifted. One hand held the base of the 'handle' nearest the eye through which the wires had been fastened. The other hand held the far end of the clippings themselves. In one deft move, nine, foot long clippings of barbed wire held taut between her hands, raked across his chest in a blaze of searing red. Each bent barb that snagged and pulled against his skin, grabbing and pinching as it tore open its very own tiny flap was noted. Each scratch resulting from the clipped dull ends that did little more damage than a kitten's scratch was still recognized, but the worst were the straight barbs. Each of them pressed flat into him at the start of that deft motion, then yanked sideways through his skin. Some of those ends he was sure he felt vibrate a metallic scrape, something like tin foil on metal fillings except that it was in his ribs as it scraped across bone itself.

He knew he screamed. He knew she relished it when he did. He knew he didn't give a damn what she wanted. HE wanted OUT, HE wanted to know who that poor son of a bitch was that she'd mangled the hell out of, it seemed, JUST to milk screams from him. He would settle for death if it came for him. He wished it would. But in the meantime, he strained. In the meantime he pulled against his restraints, _Damn the torpedoes! Full steam ahead you sadistic bitch! I'm gonna kill you, so help me I WILL kill you! _In the meantime he continued to survive.

--

_G'up. Nuh. GET UP! No. Then MOVE! Nuh. They'll come! They'll come and take you back!... nuhn't care. Sam? Wha'bou Szzam...so tired. _His fist clenched in the dirt, a few small animals skittered away. Some ballsy woodland thing waddled over the back of his legs then slid off his left hip. Faint puffs of warm and whiskers tickled his side. Something warm and wet prodded a tear in his skin, _Get up for Sam! Huh uh, tired, rest. He'll die! ... ... ... DO you HEAR ME?! He'll DIE! YOUR BROTHER! YOUR BABY! The CHILD YOU RAISED WILL DIE! ... ... ..._ more wet warmth prodded that tear before tiny needle like teeth bit and held the flap of broken tissue, _Oh God Sam! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me! _ then the owner of those sharp little teeth began to tug.

--

tbc.

Please R&R

Thanks.

sifi


	4. Chapter 4

Pitch Black – chpt 4.

by: sifi.

--

He wasn't sure but he thought there might have been a little 'give' in the bracket by his right ankle now, not much, but maybe just enough to blow a trembling breath on that failing ember of hope in his heart. _Please, then they're not anchored in! Oh God YES Please!_ With that one cold hope he turned, pulling with his right arm, jagged ends of torn flesh strained in the grainy dark. For the moment he was alone and for once in his life; as hope, fear and desperation battled over possession of him, as his lips clamped tight to a single white line, as tears shed for no one else magnified his once bright green eyes, and as his heart seemed to crumble like a dirt clod in the sun, he was glad of it.

Something tickled his right wrist so he turned his head, wondering what kind of thing he was going to have to face, _Long as it's not a rat, I'm okay..._ yet to his amazement he saw not something alive, but what appeared to be a fine spray of what just might have been cement. His heart pounded his throat against the bracket there as he rolled his right arm experimentally. Something disbelieving burst out into the mildewed stale air when he saw a faint glimmer of wiggle in the piece of metal that held him there. _Shhh! Was that really loud? Did that REALLY move?! God Yes please! Please Please Please! _he closed his eyes against the flood of tears that hit like a tidal wave. This time when his heart stuttered in his chest it seemed that hope for the moment had managed to rally. _How much time do I have? She'll freakin' KILL me... heh she's gonna kill me anyway, but, NO! I gotta get out of here! How long has she been gone? _he stopped struggling, forced his breathing to even out, and his ears to strain for the sounds of someone else's torture. He wished forgiveness for WANTING to hear it.

--

He bit back a yelp as his right arm fell to his side, something inside the shoulder stabbing it seemed through him, bringing with it a deep, sharp unrelenting burn in his upper back midway between the neck and the shoulder itself. Despite the stab that stole his breath, elation filled his heart as he swallowed the groan and renewed his efforts to wedge off the brackets that held him at the ankles. At the same time, he slid his fingers under the one at his neck, pressing his head against the slick stone, arching his neck, pressing against his fingers until he saw spots dancing and had to stop for the cottony edges of awareness. He hoped his windpipe would hold up as millimeter by millimeter that sharpened piece of metal too began to move up and down.

A violent tremor shook his body against the wall as the sound of someone else, somewhere not too far away, sobbing, brought his mind away from the task. His throat was throbbing, and he was sure it was swelling, his fingers were being pinched and sliced by the sharpened edge, but he could feel it starting to pull from the wall. _Sounds like a girl..._ he noted and barely conscious for the constricting blood and oxygen supply to his brain, wedged his whole hand up next to his throat for one final effort. He pressed back against the wall, the stabbing ache in his shoulder practically screaming for him to stop as he took a deep breath, and pushed with everything he had.

A thousand pains blazed to life, his tortured left arm screamed from punctures to break with lightning bolts of banshee-wailing hot up his neck and into his ear. Sweat coated him, his stomach filled with a soup of bile and acid then clenched, trying to squeeze it into his already swollen throat, frustration leaked from his eyes while teeth ground his lips to keep him quiet.

A soft hiss and the faintest 'plink' of metal on stone was the timid sound of release as the right side of the neck bracket slid free, leaving him gasping with technicolor pompons cheering him on behind his eyes. He wrapped his hand around the innocuous piece of metal heedless of its keen edge slicing into his palm as he cajoled the other side out of the wall, and with his weight now resting on his tortured left arm, the still wholly fastened bracket over his left ankle and one lone nail for the one over his right, he wanted only to collapse.

The tiny, hard-won victory cost him dearly. The effort to hold himself up was suddenly too much to bear, and that horrible stab in his shoulder grew in time with the release of his weight. He slid the bracket into his jeans pocket as wetness slid down his back. His heart and stomach conspired to try once more to make him vomit as he turned his quaking hand, sliding it between himself and the wall then examined it. _Uhnoh... what now?_ hot tearful air pushed out from between his lips when he saw his blood-gloved hand and panic pawed the air, _What is it! What's going on! what happened!? _he wanted to scream, but every breath pushed whatever it was that was stabbing him deeper. He wanted to buck and flail, to just tear himself free, heedless of whatever damage might be done in the process. Terror clawed his spine, his breath came short and he would have sworn on a stack of hunter's journals that if he didn't get off that wall NOW he was going to completely freak out and explode out of his skin!

'_Breathe Dean, breathe! It'll be okay son...just stay calm okay? We'll get you out of there, just stay calm,'_ he heard John's voice and nodded now, as he had within the memory. Dad would never let either of them get hurt, Dad could fix it, he just needed to stay calm. It was a time at Bobby's when his jacket sleeve got caught in the timing belt of one of Bobby's trucks. The gear had torn a good sized gouge into the boys' arm, as the sleeve turned dark red and shiny with his blood, then when the stuff began to drip onto the ground, John could feel his son about to panic and do himself untold damage. He'd stroked his back, ruffed his hair and smiled despite his own fear for what he might see once he got his boys' arm free. Quickly but carefully, he worked the gear back while prying up the timing belt, Bobby looked on anxiously, trying to keep his own fear down while blood began to puddle on the ground.

"Ho'kay...ohkay..." _I can't stop shaking... PLEASE! God if I could just... STOP SHAKING... _his arm moved upward, his hand starting at his neck, moving backward, down and out toward his shoulder. Midway between those two landmarks he felt an unnatural upward bulge in the area and sucked back another tremulous gasp while his fingers explored and his mind envisioned. From what he could tell, it was something spring-loaded. A device that probably had just lain against his body until the tension changed on it and like a snare, the sharpened hooked end was sprung, free to release, sliding into his skin, sliding under and through the bundle of tissue that made up the trapezius muscle just one more way to clamp him to the wall should the brackets fail. _Please! _ he breathed pressing his head against the wall unable to stop himself. He pressed his one free hand over his face and for a time allowed himself to cry.

--

'_Chill, damp, dark... it smells down here... down, yeah it smells like below ground, what IS this? There's almost no light here! This is NOT good!' he turned, his hands gliding over the slime slick cobbled bricks. Not far to his right was a vague shape he knew better than his own, 'Dean?' he moved towards him, uncertain if he was alive or dead in this horrible darkness, "Dean?" he spoke but there was no answer, "Oh my God Dean..." he reached out a hand into a wall of unnatural fever-heat and somehow, without being able to touch him, still felt his brother shudder, "Dean? Do you know where you are? Talk to me man! Do you know what took you? Hear me! Talk to me!" he pleaded. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he was able to begin to make out details. There were furious welts and jagged tears across his chest, rivers and tributaries of blood left glistening remnants of where they'd flowed freely down, the waistband of his jeans was nearly black but still glistened with fresh flow from somewhere behind him. _

"_Oh God... Dean, Dean you gotta hold on okay? You gotta hold on! I'm looking for you! I'm coming for you! I'm not gonna let you down, so help me God I won't..." _

_As if he'd been heard, he watched his big brother roll his head up, his eyes tearstained and bloodshot even in this pervasive darkness. He reached out, needing to lay a comforting hand on the man, wanting him to feel his presence but frustratingly unable to provide even the smallest comfort. He leaned down, looking closely at one of the longer rends, his finger hovering over the cruel tear and felt pain rake across his own chest, a flash of an image, a doll with an impossible accessory. A spider web of gray, held between her hands, swept into and across his brother in a nightmare twist on Scheherazade tormenting the Knights, only this time, instead of veils, her tool of torment appeared to be strands of barbed wire. "Holy crap! Is this real? Did this happen? Is that what did this to you?" he breathed. _

Just as abruptly as it started, both visions stopped and Sam's head snapped up. "Oh man..." he breathed looking at the pendant in his hand, "Dean!" he stuffed it back into his pocket and loaded his messenger bag with whatever he thought he might need, _Wait my ASS! Ain't happening! It was old, wherever he's being held, it's an old place. Okay, the historic section of town it is, just hang on Dean! Please!_

--

Evil voices whispered cruel things even as he wiped away the evidence of hopelessness and tried to figure out how he was going to get out of there with half his body almost free, and a tortured half yet to be released. His battle was nowhere near done and each howl or plea that rolled into his little corner of hell from somewhere else was just another tock of the clock against him. _If I don't get my shit together here I'm gonna wind up in a whole new world of bad, I can feel it! _ he raised his right arm up and felt the wall behind his back, this time on the left side. Sure enough his fingers brushed a spiny tip that felt serrated, resting against his skin on that side as well. He closed his eyes visualizing the device while his fingers kept tension on it, though apparently not enough. He got his answer as the tightly curved hook snapped upward around his questing finger, actually knocking the other out of the way. In the instant he felt it give he'd pulled away, hopefully enough to spare his left shoulder. The motion was too much against his right side which tore against its sister device sending fresh trickles down his back. _Son of a bitch! At least I know how it springs out though. _With the secondary means of restraint sprung on both sides now all he had to do was pull the one out of his right shoulder and he could try to break free in earnest! _I knew there was a reason to keep you,_ he sneered reaching into his pocket with those quaking fingers and grasped that neck bracket as firmly as he could. He gritted his teeth raising his arm over head, sliding the end of the metal between his shoulder and the wall. His lungs worked like a steam engine to pull and push oxygen through his swollen and tightening throat, his earlier emotional release had only made it worse though in the end, he hoped the focus he'd been able to find once more would be worth the price he'd wind up paying.

He wedged the end of the bracket, pinching a slice through his skin, down to the deepest end of the hook's trough and pushed. _No! No no no! _he ground through clenched teeth as the flat metal band started to bend before the hook had even given a sign of budging. _DAMNIT! NO! NO! I WILL NOT accept this! _he flipped the band in the opposite direction, bracing the small bend with his fingers. Slowly he applied pressure, straight down, each millimeter bought with screams from some other helpless victim nearby.

--

Forced to bear half the man's weight, the single remaining nail from the one side of the ankle bracket, slid almost effortlessly from its mooring with the release of his upper body from the hook that shared the brunt of the work.

Dean's foot hit the floor, his ankle twisting just enough to remind him he hadn't used it in already far too long, his left side remained pegged and he was graced with a sudden insight into what an insect might feel like when pegged to a display board by an entomologist.

With his body's weight settling into his joints, the way it was supposed to, and the feel of earth under his free foot he felt a faint breeze fan that flame of hope once more, and this time the tears that streaked his face were pregnant with thanks.

"Guh...God..." he breathed looking at the left arm that remained pinned and looking altogether foreign to him. This wasn't his arm, this belonged in a picture in some medical journal, it didn't belong on the body of a healthy 30 year old man! _In fact, it kinda looks like it belongs on a corpse..._ he thought swallowing hard against the gorge that saw fit to rise once more.

_Give me strength... please... if there IS a god up there... anywhere... give me strength to finish this please! _he sniffed hard, his continuously misfiring right hand reached up and pressed his left back into the wall, off the nail head it had been hung up on. His fingers grabbed futilely at the nail head, the nail of his fingers grazing the hypersensitive flesh, each brush the sting of a thousand paper cuts until finally, frustrated with himself, with his slow progress, and terrified by the wailing that had stopped and apparently been silent for long moments, _shit... how long has it been quiet? Oh God no please! I'm sorry, please forgive me... please, but I need more time!_ he choked squeezing the head between his fingertips, the sour acrid, smell of infection and decay taking refuge in his nose once the seal over his wound was compromised.

His fingers slipped off the pus encrusted nail-head once, twice, and a third time before he lost his knees in prayer to the altar that had once been his good left arm. _Please..._ he gasped once more, locking his fingers, pinning them with his thumb. Breath held in his throat, his right arm moved up and down, twisting holding, begging and slowly the nail began to move. Blood and ichor spat from the wound then oozed green, yellow and red over his twitching palm. His tongue remained firmly bloodily pinned between his teeth as the fingers of his right hand crawled up the distended purple flesh toward his elbow. He wasn't going to have such an easy time of this one he knew, but still, he had to try.

--

There was no way to tell how long he sat on his heels breathing the stench of his own retch as it dribbled from his mouth down his chest to find rest in his lap. Stars prickled in, behind, and all around his eyes where capillaries had burst as he pulled the nail in his elbow out through the bone, a feeling of indescribable torture, nothing like anything he'd experienced yet in this little hell of his as the steel was worked through the immensely vascular network that was his elbow. The arm lay across his lap, useless, defunct, and most certainly simply awaiting amputation as he slid the fingers of his good right hand into the 'give' of the ankle bracket that secured his last limb to the wall. Delirious, the world a monster riddled place that should have been surreal peppered his waking dreams as he gave a tug and set his foot free.

His left foot hit the floor and he shrieked as what felt like a thousand nails were shot simulatneously into the tender plantar surface.

"Gaaaaah! God! What the fuck!" he screamed rolling onto his back, a board with hundreds of nails pinned through his foot as he brought it over head, yet another torment for whatever purpose he could not even begin to conceive.

Another volley of sweat, fever, and richter scale trembling brought more tears and pants to him as he pulled the board from his foot, blood rained onto his face, as he cast it aside and the trap door to his oubliette opened, the ladder descended and his bisque faced tormentor returned with eyes blazing her fury and her home made atrocity shredding the air beside her.

"YOU! Pathetic simple... WORTHLESS sack of NOTHING! How DARE You! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!" she raged across the suddenly far too tiny cell. Her arm was raised high above her head, her ruby lips stretched into a warped sneer he'd never be able to forget as she strode forcefully toward where he lay, now on his side.

A whistle tore the air between them before he had a chance to move, and as the barbs stuck into his side, catching, grinding, and tearing Dean brought his legs up against his stomach, as far up his chest as he could though his thighs both screamed in protest and his teeth ground the inside of his lips to keep the whimpers inside. He needed her to breathe, he needed that two second reprieve to roll away or force himself to his feet.

"What the hell are you?" he panted, doing everything he could to distract her while every torn edge of skin rubbing against its other half wished to be whole again.

"The likes of YOU will NEVER KNOW!" she shrieked, ripping the whip back and out of him.

He screamed, his body bucked under the blow, blood flowed, he swallowed and spat his own acid while flesh fires raged yet let lay cool the terrors of his mind.

"You Son of a bitch!" she screamed and let fly once more her home made whip. Its barbs sunk into his back, tearing, scratching so deeply he wondered if he'd ever want to feel a woman's nails on his back again or if it would just remind him of this.

"STAAAHHHHPPP!" he cried feeling his skin tearing as she withdrew once more, leaning back with an almost parallel pull to open as much flesh as she could while preparing for the next blow.

_God... I know you're Sammy's forte... but if you exist... please... please... I gotta get out of here... I gotta save my brother! Please... help me..._ he pleaded blinded by burning agonies that denied any possibility of relief.

There was only one thing that left him grateful in this moment, grateful that he was alone with this bitch, and yet, still terrified beyond belief of what he might do, what he might be willing to compromise to survive if she would only ask it of him. Without the armor of bravado that kept him once removed from his own fear, without the comforting presence of either his brother or his father to shore him up, to gird that armor around him, Dean found he felt small. In fact he felt very much like a frightened four year old boy clinging to his disbelieving father's arm late at night, watching their world burn away while they sat on the cold hood of the family Impala.

--

tbc.

Please R&R.

Thanks, sifi


	5. Chapter 5

Pitch Black – chpt 5

by: sifi.

--

He rolled, his weight steamrollering over his tortured left arm yanked an unsuspecting scream from him as the tips of the wire strips brushed over him, their snags and snarls missing another opportunity to cling while the screaming porcelain-faced harpy 'coptered the thing over her head, whatever fury drove her he could not tell, though he thought it might have been his sheer audacity to survive, _Course, she could just be a psychotic bitch! _

_Oooh here we go! Up! Up, push Up!_ he forced himself to his feet, both legs screaming, one around a four inch long steel spike through one of its largest groups of muscles, the other, a mass of crushed meat bleeding and broken beneath the skin, and one foot pocked with nail holes through its back half and outer side thanks to a simple moment of exhausted carelessness.

With his back at the wall, his good arm up defensively, she raised the arm that held her evil device, her face twisting, contorted, her mouth dropped open as if in disbelief as her toy flew from her hand to clatter at the corner of the cell.

"No! NO! You CAN'T DO THIS!" she screeched still advancing on the decimated man leaning against the wall, barely alive, and yet somehow standing on his own two feet, almost free.

"NO! PLEASE!?" she begged trying to continue toward him but somehow bound from further approach.

Dean wasn't sure what he was seeing, whether it was real, hallucination or if there was something else to come. _Sam? Zat you?_ he wondered recalling an incident just over a year ago when Sam had managed to, in spite of his own tortured and drugged state at the time, disarm the he-bitch cult leader that had tried to stick an athame into Dean's heart. _Don't call out, you haven't said anything yet... just... look... stairs... screw the bitch, wha'ever's wrong with her, she deserves it!... oh look! Stairs! I should go now. _He lurched to the right where escape remained accessible to him. A shiver ran up his spine with a shriek straight out of a monster movie trying to wrap around him. Her scream tried to call on something chivalrous, _Sorry bitch... talk to Sancho, Don Quixote's got a hot date with a bath and a bed...mmm bubbles... lots of bubbles..._ for the first time in what felt like forever the corner of his mouth turned up at the prospect of soaking in a steaming tub surrounded by mountains of pristine white bubbles. That shriek reached out to claw his spine again and he turned to find his porcelain bisque, ruby lipped bitch pressed with her back flat up against the wall, brackets flew and found themselves pinning her by the wrists, the ankles, and the neck.

"It's NOT MY Fault! He shouldn't have been able to... No! Please Don't! I'll do anything! I swear! HELP ME!" she pleaded with Dean's back.

The clatter of wood on stone caught his attention as her device of torment and terror rose from the corner where some unseen force had cast it, those nine strips of wire 'coptering toward her in the scant light. Dean couldn't be sure, but at the rate those things were spinning he was fairly certain she was gonna be in a world of hurt pretty soon.

_Not too fast now Dean... could be a trap..._he reminded himself, using his right arm to help pull himself up the stairs and out of his private hell.

"You can't leave me here!" she screamed once again before her voice rose in pitch and something splattered through the cell below. _Hmm bet that's what a side of beef would sound like in a wood chipper, _somehow though to his surprise, she continued to scream. _Heh... looks like you blew it baby... wonder if she'll make it? _

He scanned the world outside the oubliette, to the left it ended in a brick wall. To the right it held four doors two on either side, and a staircase at its end. There were no guards, no demons, no monsters, and no people that he could see. _Careful now Dean, just be careful, they could be IN those cells just waiting to pounce... I'm gonna go for it. No matter what, I don't have a choice... I gotta go... I'm getting the hell out of here. You sure?_ he asked himself, _Pretty sure..._ with the last musterable smirk born of what he was well aware could be his last tantalizing breath of freedom, he looked back on his tormentor, now forced to face her own limits and said, "Bet me."

--

_Gotta look... Why? s'not like I can do anything for anyone..._ he hobbled to the first cell on the right, the ball of his left foot dragging the dirt floor, his left arm clutched to his chest while the fingers of his right hand grasped the wall, gripping the edges of bricks for stability, dragging himself along until they could curl into a crevasse on the door before him. Bloodshot green eyes, their color darkened by fever peered into the window of the door, searching for something, for the owner of one of the other voices he'd counted on to keep his tormentor occupied while he sought his escape. _Hmmm not this one..._ he realized as the door swung inward, pulling him off balance though fortunately he was able to grasp the wall beside him quickly and stabilize. _OOoh lucky..._ he thought feeling heavy warmth move through the places where fear tingled, at the idea of falling flat on his face down here, _that coulda been bad...Just go! Just get out! I can't! I gotta see... I gotta know for sure..._ he shambled across an impossibly huge six foot wide corridor to the next door, the numbness and sense of victory that had carried him out of his cell fading quickly, leaving in their wake a man clinging to the last vestiges of will.

Twice more he forced himself to peer curiously into empty cells, wondering in a state near delirium if he had indeed heard any voices at all. At the base of the next flight of stairs his right arm held the railing as he came forward dropping to his knees onto the third step where he sat for a moment, unable to move.

His body seized at the speed of cooling metal as he realized those screams that had kept him counting time must've come from another place, somewhere close enough, _Maybe there's another hell across from mine...s'gotta be it._ Holding the railing as tightly as he could he glanced back down the miles of agony he'd traveled just to come this far and shook his head, without question, there was no going back. _I'll come back for ya Sammy, wherever you are I'll tear this place apart and save you, but I can't do it alone... need help... please just hold on little brother, I'll find you,_ he promised and felt his legs begin to move again, pushing him up the stairs one by one, given assistance by the one functioning hand and arm he still had. He looked down at his deep purple left arm, saw spots where the skin was glossy from stretching, the smell of infection oozing out of the holes hit him as he reached the halfway point up the stairs, _Gotta learn to cock a shotgun with only one arm... this one's a goner, I'm sorry arm, I'm sorry I couldn't save you... you been good to me and I screwed up! Just like I always do, got Sammy killed y'know? Got him shanked in the back just by calling out his name, got my baby boy killed man... least I can do is lose an arm over it..._

At the top of the stairs his head came round timidly, his eyes trying to see everything at once, every sense as keen as he could coerce it to be. His skin crawled while sweat and blood dripped onto the stone steps beneath him, his entire path marked by a trail of shimmering red. He could still hear the screams and whimpers of the bitch below who'd been transplanted into his hell, somehow he knew, in his stead. Even safely swaddled within delirium some part of him knew she was paying a price for his life, and he wondered if the others had succumbed to her sickness already, or if they too had been let go. Was he the last? _Did they already go? Did they leave me behind? Was I too weak?_ he wondered suddenly certain that was why he was so blatantly alone in this moment.

The room around him was no larger than a storage shed though made of the same stone all the way into the earth. There was nowhere to hide up here, and no one stood inside the door that spoke to him, ushering him toward open evening air. _Probably just waiting on the other side of the door... gonna come an axe, chop! OFF with his head! _"Prfffft!" he snickered and pressed his hand to his mouth with wide frightened eyes, _oh crap! they'da heard that... where'd everybody go? S'Sammy still down there? S'anybody still here 'er'd they all go home? Leave me b'hind? I should just... yeah, this is a nice place right here... I could lay down... take a nap, dream 'bout m' bubblebath... mmm so nice and warm... and no orange lipstick this time..._he looked down at the redness wept by his body, _water'd be pink though... pink bubbles... pink is pretty..._ he stumbled forward in the open. A dozen 12 inch miles before him as he lurched and shambled, _Hey look! I'm Igor! Yeeeeeth Maaaathter..._ he stopped and almost giggled again then took a breath while another voice inside, this one more mature scowled deeply at him, _Dean Winchester quit screwing around and get your ass out of here now! Sam would never leave you! You KNOW he's down there somewhere! _a vision of the long man in dark shorts, with long brown wavy hair, so very like his little brothers, and the voice, that howling alto laden with fear and pain! _'Look Sam... here, look... one... one fish. Look... see? one, two, two fish...See? Sammy?' "FISHY! Fish!" _the year and a half old Sam of his memories squealed jumping from his lap and tearing into the bedroom where their father slept, snoring loud enough to peel the wallpaper. Tears pressed against the insides of his eyes, _I'm sorry Sammy... I know you'd never leave me... not like I'm doing to you... but I'll be back! I swear little brother... stone by stone if I have to... _

When he reached the first tree, his feet snaring on one another, leaving him breathless despite the mousey moan that stumbled out of his swollen sandpaper throat, heaving against its rough bark, its time worn skin slowly releasing the day's heat Dean wrapped his arm around the trunk, pressed his face to its hide and shuddered a handful of gasping, grateful breaths for this moment of freedom, whatever else may come. He had this moment. "Hmmm fishy..." his lips curled faintly while his body breathed.

_C'mon Dean... please, just a little further, distance dude, just a little more okay? Just... let go of the tree okay? C'mon now... just a little bit. MMm'kay..._ reluctantly he gathered himself, his knees threatening to buckle, his thighs quaking, his legs coltish. Against his body his left arm trembled while his right reached out to feel the world in front of him, tell him what his eyes could not see in the blackness all around.

A 'whuff' of air passed his face and the sound of his shambling took longer to come back to him, _it's kind of an open spot..._ he realized putting his left foot down further than he should have, it was just that his right leg was on fire it was so damned tired! Dried needles from the plentiful pines in the area carpeted the forest floor, his weight cracked them and taking himself by surprise, he barked a scream before gritting his teeth as many of them found their way into the holes made by the board of nails. For the next to last time he stumbled, managing to turn just enough to land safely on his right side. _Oh God that woulda hurt... that woulda been bad..._ _help me... please... someone..._ breath snagged out of his throat in the same way the undergrowth snagged the raw, jaggedly torn flesh of his naked torso and arms, well the one he could still coerce into pulling him along the needle carpeted, decaying forest floor. The other, continued to spasm, to flop and twitch as if possessed, each motion a throb so deep he could barely remember to breathe when it struck. Blood continued to mark his passage as he dragged himself along through the dark. Surrounded by blackness that felt as empty and alone as his heart he wondered if he could have walked, then knew he couldn't. He was already doing everything he could.

--

Rotted wood splintered beneath the weight of the youngest Winchester nearly sending him crashing to the debris laden forest floor. _Damnit!_ he cursed inside shining the beam of his flashlight up into the night sky. _Just a hint, c'mon you bastards just a glimpse... ah HA! there we go... alright..._ he smiled tightly catching that elusive glimpse of rolling-smoky gray-within-gray velvet against the pitch black skies above, _Gotcha! _he pitched forward, so very close to being able to feel his big brothers' presence.

He'd been on his way to the Sheriff's station after torturous hours of searching, interviewing, tracing, and basically spinning his wheels with only a few smashed cell phone parts and a brass pendant to show for it. He was a whole hairs breadth from saying, 'to hell with it', and risking their tenuous freedom for his brothers' life if need be. The impala's lights cut through the rural darkness and if he'd so much as blinked he would have missed it. A black mottled figure crossed the car's beams absorbing the light briefly during is passage. Sam was sure his feet were going to push the brake pedal through the floor as the car fishtailed to a halt on the side of the road. He shut her down, grabbed a flashlight, his .9mm, and a shotgun and found himself tearing through the surrounding forest swinging that penetrating beam around, searching for that light eating texture, every fiber of his being certain it would lead him to his brother.

_Please don't let me be too late, please!_ with his heart trip-hammering in his chest, his breath stuttering through a throat that kept threatening to close each time a new wave of tears were swallowed down he pushed forward, _Please Dean, _he prayed unable to shake the images from his visions. He wasn't sure exactly what happened but he knew it was horrible, he knew it was verging on being the end of his brother. He could still feel the horns poking into the palm of his hand from when he'd clutched the figure head reflexively, his brothers' amulet, his tie to the history of his own spirit, the mark of his place in the universe, and in some way it had spoken to him. He felt the fire streak over his chest and stomach as if the claws of some great beast had raked across him, leaving his skin hot and throbbing in its wake, while in the reaches of his mind a voice he'd know deaf screamed itself to a whimper. An agony he'd never wanted to hear again shuddered through him with the memory of pains past, _Dean please, don't let go, don't you give up! Please! I NEED you!_ When they came this time, he didn't swallow them, but let them fall while he plunged forward, heedless of all but his need for the one forever-constant in his life.

--

The words echoed inside a mind no longer capable of consciousness, _He'll die! ... ... ... DO you HEAR ME?! He'll DIE! YOUR BROTHER! YOUR BABY! The CHILD YOU RAISED WILL DIE! ... ... ..._ more wet warmth prodded that tear before tiny needle like teeth bit and held the flap of broken tissue, his last coherent thought shredded the last tissue of hope, _Oh God Sam! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me! _then the owner of those sharp little teeth began to tug.

--

He wanted to call out, GOD how he wanted to call out, but he'd been trained too well. Instead he crouched below the line of bushes, the beam from his flashlight extinguished until he could identify the scuttling sounds in front of him. There was nothing akin to a human voice to be heard, but one of the sounds he knew far too well most certainly didn't belong out and about at this time of night. _What the hell!?_ he wondered, noting a cluster motion on the wooded floor, _Oh no! Dear God in heaven no!_ he prayed bounding to his feet, opening the beam wide and shining it on what anyone who lived in the rational world would consider an impossibility.

A flurry of nocturnal scavengers sped back into the shadows with the intrusion of his light into their dominion, but the more brazen remained in the hopes of one more mouthful. _Oh God no..._ breath sucked out of him as he raced forward, tossing his messenger bag at the fat bodied raccoon that hunkered at his fallen brother's side gnawing on his flesh. A handful of large black ravens flew off then descended once more onto the ballsy feeding omnivores, some opossum, some raccoons, all tugging for their fair share of the fallen human, willing to suffer the beaks and talons of the birds for fresh meat.

"Dean!" Sam called swinging his jacket off and using it to swat or scoop the scavengers away, leaving the body with malevolent glares cast at this bipedal intruder while the ravens took up stance in a loose circle, hopping and bobbing on the ground, screaming at anything that would dare try to advance.

"Dean?... Oh God..." Sam's throat squeezed shut, his breath stopped and he fought every urge to throw himself backwards, away from this impossibility, _This is NOT my brother... this... no! NO! Oh God..._ finally a gasp stabbed the night as he reached out, uncertain where to touch him that wouldn't cause him pain.

"Dean?" his voice quivered his eyes only able to see blood and torn flesh. His fingers slid around his brothers' neck, finding the divot where his pulse should have been. "No... C'mon Dean... please... come ON Dean! Don't you DO THIS to me!" he ground pressing his fingers harder, deeper into the firm puffy flesh. _Oh Thank GOD!_ he breathed tasting the salt of his tears, _Please tell me that's his pulse, please!_ he set the flashlight down on the ground looking for a place to grab hold of that wasn't coated with blood or filth. Unable to find such a place he grasped Dean's right shoulder and hip, rolling the older man toward himself while scooting back to make room. What he saw as Dean's body came to rest against his legs stopped his heart then thrust a dagger through it, _How... how can he survive this?_ He wrapped his arm under the blackening appendage and raised his big brother up, shifting his own position so he was directly behind Dean, his own body holding him off the ground while he hastily and with clumsy fingers undid his belt, sliding it from the loops of his jeans only to tie it snugly at the elder hunters' armpit in the hopes of stopping the further spread of decay. Finally he was forced to breathe again, pulling his big brother up against his chest he wrapped his arms around him, letting the tears come as he rocked him back and forth, his head at rest for a guilt ridden moment, at the crook of his brother's neck and shoulder. "I'm sorry Dean... I'm so sorry I should have found you sooner! I should have... I don't know... SOMEthing! I shoulda got the police, I shoulda done someTHING! Please man, please just don't die on me alright? We've come so far Dean, PLEASE! Don't you die on me! I'm gonna get you out of here I swear! I'm gonna save you... I swear..." _I couldn't protect you but so help me God I'm going to save you Dean..._ He gave himself a scant few more seconds to feel his brother against him, a lifetime of memories exploding at once as he did, then forced himself to his feet, arranging their positions for a fireman's carry before sweeping him up onto his shoulders with ease.

--

tbc.

Please R&R

Thanks. sifi.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N Thanks Roz for inspiring the use of the nails, and Thanks to the Beloved Beist for re-awakening my far too frequently repressed bloodlust

Also many thanks are necessary to those of you who've read, and/or read and reviewed this fic. It wouldn't have been half the fun without such wonderful folks to share it with! Thank You.

And the suffering I've put both CatBeist and Nvrmore through subjecting them with the task of being my betas...You're my heroes. Thank You!

Okay... let the ending begin.

**888888888888888888888888888888888888**

Pitch black – chpt 6

by: sifi.

--

He fished the keys out of his jeans pocket, the effort to hold his brother over his shoulders minimal despite the distance he'd just carried him. With one hand he opened the driver door then unlocked the backseat, slinging his big brother down into his arms as if he were little more than a child. He crouched, holding him close and stepped into the car, the spirit of which knew more about their family history than Sam himself did.

"I gotcha Dean, I gotcha... I'm gonna get you safe, I swear..." he held him close, the ragged but steady breathing against his neck a marginal comfort.

Tires screamed against the pavement and the sound of a heavy metallic body being maneuvered in a way it was never really meant to, came to his ears. He lowered Dean's torso and head gently to the back seat, dropped the messenger bag onto the floor, his hand on his smoke black .9mm as he heard a car door slam shut and began to back out of the impala.

"Sam!?"

His heart started again and he breathed, "Laura..." he turned unable to hold back the tears as she closed on the car.

"You found him?"

He nodded, "We gotta get him to a hospital... I don't know how he's still alive..."

"Are you hurt?" she asked shining her flashlight on him, noting the blood staining his shirt, face, hands and arms.

He shook his head.

"Oh God..." she shook her head shoving him aside. She lurched into the backseat flipping the overhead light on, and choked at the sight of him, her mind ticking off all the supplies she'd need to try and save his life. Her fingers pressed to his throat, her eyes closed while she counted off his vitals.

"Laura we don't have time for this, we gotta get him to a hospital..." Sam choked leaning into the backseat over them.

"We can't," she gasped scrubbing the tears off her face, leaving it streaked with the blood of the man she loved.

"There isn't any other choice! He's going to lose that arm if we don't do something! We can't fix this!" Sam bellowed furiously, all his fear coming to a head in that moment.

"We can't Sam! Someone leaked a sketch of him to the local cops! I got the notice through my cell phone! Hendricksen is gonna be on his way soon,"

"I don't care! He can't prosecute a corpse! I'd rather see him in jail for life than six feet under! Don't you get it!?" he railed.

She reached into her pocket for her cell phone then quickly handed it to him. On the screen he saw a sketch of his own face, then his mugshot from Folsom Prison beside it.

"They found a body they're identifying as YOU! and they're blaming Dean! they're bringing in Hendricksen and they're going to start a manhunt. You have to clear out of the motel you're at and relocate..." she fished into her pocket again then handed him a key, "...here. I need to get to the hospital and do some shopping..."

Sam took the key, his face crumpled, "I don't care... he needs a hospital... you can't fix this on your own! the only thing that matters is that he survives!" he hollered.

She clasped his face securely in her hands feeling his fear roll back and forth between them, he wasn't making the connection he needed to and she completely understood why, "You don't get it, Sam, someone LEAKED the pictures! Someone who KNOWS he needs a hospital! To HELL with Hendricksen! he doesn't matter... but whatever, whoever did this to him will KNOW where _he_ needs to be! Somewhere WE can't protect him...got it?"

She could almost see the lightbulb go on over Sam's head as he slowly nodded.

"Good, get him into the room, lay him on his back, don't try to remove any foreign objects, elevate his torso and watch for any signs of puking or aspiration, do you know vitals?" she asked but frowned when he shook his head, "You know CPR?"

"Yeah, ABC's and 30 to 2," he nodded.

"Good go! I'll be there as soon as I can," she climbed into the back seat of the car grasping Dean's head lightly, pressing her lips to his temple, "Just keep breathing Dean, keep living, we NEED you!" she willed through hitching breath and tearful kisses that tasted of his blood.

Climbing from the back seat she reached up grasping Sam by the back of the neck until their foreheads met, their pain shared, halved and still squared. "I'll be there as soon as I can..." she wanted to say, _"Take care of him, don't let him die, I love him..." _but this was Sam, and there was no one on earth more important to him than the man lying in the backseat.

Speechless he nodded, as she kissed his cheek before dashing back to her car and laying a rubber trail in a half circle as she sped back toward the town and the nearest hospital.

--

Sam stepped from the bathroom with the bottom two inches of the ice bucket full of betadine soaked gauze pads. His lips drew tightly together as he watched her chest draw shaky breaths and her throat work while somehow after more than two solid hours of near silent crying, tears were still flowing from her bloodshot eyes. Other than to tell Sam how to help her tend his brother the only words she'd spoken were the first one's she'd said once she'd seen him on the bed, her arm wrapping around his head as she kissed his temple and whispered, "Oh my God... you'll be okay... you'll be alright."

There was a pocket around her and now around his brother as well, a bubble of heat and tension that surrounded them. _First things' first... take care of him... heal my love... _

"Laura..." Sam's whisper sounded almost childlike in his own ears, tentative, and he couldn't deny it, fearful.

"No," she gasped then shook her head.

"Please..." he dared again.

"I SAID NO!" she barked taking him by surprise. She swallowed hard, "Shine the lamp onto his chest... there's a foreign body in here," she instructed using the nose of the needle holder to open the hole between his connective tissue and the medial border of his left pectoral muscle.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Sam groaned watching blood gurgle out of the widening hole in time with his pulse, as if from a spring as she worked to repair him.

"Swallow it, he needs you," she instructed absently, "lower... shine it right into the hole..." the light moved, tracing the path of the scissor-like instrument, "there, perfect. Come here you little son of a bitch," she breathed, "get that 60 ml syringe filled up with sterile water and a little betadine, do NOT touch the tip!" she ordered angling the instrument downward within the hole to grasp the twig in as firm a place as possible and holding the skin up with a pair of tweezers she pulled the broken but holding together shank of wood from his chest, dropping it into the trashcan. Her hand closed over the syringe she'd requested, clots and stringy bits of his brothers' blood and muscle smeared thickly onto his hand leaving his head spinning.

_How many times have we patched each other up? How many times have we had our hands up to the wrists in each others' blood or dad's? Stitches, bandages, triple x, bullet grazes, daeva maulings, psychotic ghost blisters, crystal... I mean strains, sprains and everything in between, this is my brothers' blood, she's doing surgery in a motel room, how did this happen? I really don't feel good at all..._ he swayed in place, he hadn't even realized he did it until her head snapped around, her eyes pinned him to the spot, the trembling of her lips the only sign of what she might be going through. A chill certainty draped itself over him and he quivered inside his skin, _if she ever finds out what did this..._ but nodded he could hold up.

Through the next hours, as she worked tirelessly, flushing, stitching, cleaning, dabbing his wounds she also continued to check the worst of it, his left arm. It was broken, and deep purple in color. The punctures were oozing something green and festering, it looked like a rotting sausage sewn to his shoulder. The skin was stretched so tight that upper layers were peeling off in places, and the exudate stank of decay. Sam's belt was cinched just before the arm pit, it was his duty to milk his brother's arm, squeeze as much of the blood and pus back down, out of the punctures, and the extra cuts she'd made to help alleviate the pressure and keep the infection from spreading while she kept the intravenous antibiotics pouring into him. He also had to regularly loosen the tourniquet to ensure there wasn't a complete deprivation of blood to the limb, it was a tenuous balance but necessary at this stage.

_Whatever he was punctured with, it went through bone, if the infection spreads to his bone... Dear God please, if it's possible we have to save the arm, if we can, he might need to have the radius plated. Anything... just please... _she pleaded silently finally rising and removing the brown and red covered latex gloves. Her forearms were streaked with heavy brown flakes of dried Dean and Sam hadn't noticed but her clothes and face had been either oozed onto or jetted across.

"We'll put him in the other bed after I get back," she muttered kneeling at the side of his head, all of her will focused on him, willing him everything she had to spare to help him, just as she'd done before and would do any time he needed it, "You'll heal completely..." she breathed shakily into his ear, her throat closing around the emotion's she held in check for too long already, "Sleep without dreams Dean, just heal and rest..." she pursed her lips against his temple and felt his head try to rock toward her while a slightly heavier breath came from his throat.

"I love you..." she said clearly then looked at Sam who stood nodding while tears finally overflowed his eyes, then forced her self to rise.

"Keep the ice packs at his pressure points, I'll be back in a few minutes," she moved to the door.

"Where're you going?" Sam asked, wondering what could be important enough to take her away from his brothers' side.

"I'm going to step outside, find a nice dark spot where no one can see me and I'm going to cry, probably like a baby, I'm sure it'll get ugly, is that okay with you?" she snipped.

"Do it inside, we don't know what or who they were, or how many more of them there might be. There could be something lurking," Sam muttered running his hand over his big brother's forehead.

She nodded, "Let 'em come."

"Laura..." Sam said softly, the look on his face saying everything else. If something _was_ out there lurking, she'd be on her own. Nothing could or would tear him away from this room or his only _everything_ left.

"Fine... I'll just get the rest of the supplies out of the car," she grunted stepping over the salt line that guarded the doorway. What Sam had said was true, they had no way of knowing what had happened, what kind of creature had done this to Dean and though they could start to speculate on why, until they had solid answers, they were going to take every precaution necessary.

"Bring a gun?" he asked not looking at her.

"I don't need one," she left as he nodded.

"I know you don't," he sighed once the door was shut behind her. With her out of the room his big brothers' stillness was frightening. Needing to feel useful Sam squeezed out a cloth and ran it over Deans' face first, then tentatively dabbed at dried streaks of blood and rubbery flesh that had been cut loose through her ministrations. He was careful to steer clear of the cuts and slices themselves that latticed his chest and abdomen. Several of them had required stitching they were so deep while others little more than antibiotic ointment. _What the hell could have done that? Was it really barbed wire?_ he wondered having noticed many of the same types of cuts had torn through his jeans and subsequently his thighs as well. It looked as if he'd been peppered with chunks of glass or a box of razors and Sam shook his head. When Laura had cut the jeans off him, their removal breaking open the wounds that had scabbed over he'd winced and turned away. She'd sent him into the bathroom to mix more betadine and sterile water. He knew what she was doing, giving him a chance to do something constructive while she did what she had to. When she'd called for him to return, his brother was wrapped snugly from the hips down in a sheet and blanket, ice packs were placed under his knees and armpits, and another atop his right thigh, but if there was one between his legs, Sam didn't know.

"What did this to you Dean?" he asked softly, remembering the doll-like face and the mesh of wire it had wielded in his vision, "How did that... whatever it was, get the drop on you?" he asked softly while mopping away the dirt and blood, looking to find the face he knew so well beneath it all. _He looks so vulnerable, so small... would you hate that? Sometimes I still don't know what to make of you Dean... how can one person be such a mass of conflicting characteristics? I used to think I knew you, then when you came to Stanford, _"...I thought _you_ were the one who'd changed y'know?... I thought you'd just added another layer of cocky self absorption, but that's just what you _wanted_ me to think isn't it? It's what you've _always_ wanted other people to think... then when you were in the hospital after the cabin, after what that yellow eyed son of a bitch did to you... it wasn't you who'd changed Dean, you've always been so much more than you let anyone see... but I finally got a chance to see it... why did you ever feel you had to hide so much?" he snorked back some tears and wiped others away, rinsing the washcloth then gently rubbing it through his brother's filthy matted hair.

"You can't tell me it was cause dad made you feel that way, you're his first born, that _means _something, and I hope to hell it wasn't because of me... I hope I never made you feel like you had to be someone different. Maybe I did though, and IF I did... I'm sorry man... Please Dean, you have to recover, I've never known a minute without you in it. You can't leave me," he sat back wringing out the face cloth again, then tilted his chin upward, glaring furiously at the deep dark bruise around the front of his neck, just beneath the fine group of slashes that thankfully hadn't gone very deep, "You have to be okay Dean, we haven't gone through everything we've gone through just to lose you now do you hear me?" _I wonder..._he thought laying the cloth down on the bed, placing his hands at his brothers' temples, and closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and tried to visualize energy moving between them, flowing through his arms, out his fingertips and into his brother to use to heal himself.

_Maybe they're right, maybe the power itself is neutral, maybe I just need to let it flow, here you go Dean, use whatever you need big brother,_ the sensation was not unlike what he'd felt when the Shtriga got hold of him a couple years ago in Fitchburg but he didn't mind, it was for Dean. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do. Images moved through his mind, the hunts, the adventures, the surprisingly large quantity of good times they'd managed to have over the years with their odd little family. Picnics with Dad, Bobby and his neice Mercy, Shep, Joshua, Pastor Jim and many friends they'd made along the way. There were nightmare images too, things that still haunted his dreams, and maybe even some that haunted his brother as well, rats gnawing on him, blue and gold harlequin clowns with jagged yellow teeth. Scarlet colored lips came before he heard the sound of metal on metal on stone and felt a bullet of raw heat shoot upward through his arm. He screamed with Dean's voice and his eyes shot open.

"Sam?!" Laura breathed, the creasing of her brows, the pull of her mouth and the sight of the ceiling above her told him something had happened.

"Ungh?" he grunted feeling his own brows furrow as he tried to sit up but found he could only do so with her help.

"What the hell did you think you were doing! You big... Stupid... DUMBASS!" her fists twined in his shirt and she shook him even as she practically lifted him off the floor and back onto his feet.

"What happened?" he asked looking around the room at the spilled box of medical and surgical supplies she'd 'influenced' away from a local hospital.

"Sam... God you...! What did you do!? How much did you give him?!" she demanded swinging him around on his gangly and unsteady legs until he sat in a chair.

He shook his head, his brows furrowing while his mouth bowed downward, _Did I?_ he wondered. "I just... I just wanted to help..." he stammered grunting under the weight of his body around him.

"It's not helping if you kill yourself in the process! You don't mess with things you don't know!" she hollered furiously while picking up the supplies and smoothing the salt line.

"What's to know? You do it all the time!" he shook his head feeling angry while he clutched his left arm to his chest, "Damnit..."

She turned on her knees and reached up, cupping his face in her warm shaky hands, her thumb stroked his cheek, "You guys NEED each OTHER! ... you're both..." she shook her head, "Being ALIVE is what matters, you could be on opposite ends of the earth and if something happened to the other, each of you would KNOW..."

She rolled her head on her neck, "Besides, I just _channel_ it," she lied.

"I felt something... I think I felt something that happened to him... I think the punctures were nails or spikes or something, I felt it... it still hurts..." he frowned cradling his arm against his chest even still.

"Where?" she asked, thinking about the four inch piece of steel she'd pulled out of the muscles of his thigh while Sam was in the bathroom, _whoever or whatever... they knew enough about anatomy to make sure nothing they did directly killed him_.

"The one in the palm," his hand and lower arm spasmed as she held it gently and inspected it for damage, testing the mobility of his fingers and wrist. "Hurt like a son of a bitch."

She spread open his palm jostling the long bones inside just a bit, then squeezed between the four of them fiercely with her thumb and forefinger.

"Aaaahhhow!" Sam barked yanking his hand back with a look of incredulous startlement on his face.

"Gimme," she held out her hand again, taking his into it then worked the bones once more. Sam smiled and breathed easily as the pain disappeared in a flash. She rose to her feet, her finger under his chin while he remained in the chair, "Better?" she asked.

Sam nodded.

"Good, don't do that again... especially alone."

--

A beam of sunlight slid into his eyes startling him awake. "Uhng...how's he?" he asked sitting up just long enough to scrub his face with his hands before moving to Laura's side.

"The infection's stopped spreading I think. His vitals are stable, his temp is holding at about 102.7, at least it's not going up anymore. I need more cold packs, these are pretty much shot. There was another nail through his left thigh, I didn't tell you about it last night, the infection there is already starting to recede, that's a good sign. I'm gonna have to go get some more I.V. antibiotics, he's going through a bag every four hours," she said dryly, her eyes never leaving Dean's face.

_He almost looks like he's sleeping,_ Sam thought briefly, noting how well she'd managed to finish cleaning him up, _Course the blankets are tucked up to his chin. _

"You should get some sleep, I can keep watch... it looks like the swelling's going down in his arm..." he noted.

"I just bled it out some," she nodded.

"Do you think he'll..." he started to ask but couldn't make his throat work around the words.

"It's too soon to tell, depends on how deep the infection has spread through the bone or IF it's taken hold in there yet... either way, we DO have to get him to a hospital eventually," she nodded.

"How soon do you think he can travel?"

She shook her head, "I'd like to see the fever down a bit more and see him regain consciousness first. Wherever we take him, one of us will have to be there at all times, and it has to be out of this state."

He nodded though she didn't see it, "I'll go get some more ice."

She pulled the blankets down to his waist, removing the spent bags from under his arms, then reached under his legs, for the remaining three bags, one under each knee and the third atop the bruise on his right thigh. Dumping the warm water out of them into the bathroom sink she looked into the mirror, the light glinting off several silver hairs while simultaneously deepening the appearance of the lines around her eyes and over her forehead. _I don't care... they can have it all... nothing else matters but these two, _she thought with a nod, _I have to find out who, or what did this to him, and why. Later, but soon._ Searing bile rose in the back of her throat, stinging deep, propelled by fury that someone would inflict such atrocity on what was HERS. _Oh God..._ she lurched for the toilet as a jet of green, yellow, and red splattered in chunks and ribbons against the porcelain, the expulsion a result of the evening's work. _I get it Cernunnos, I get why you wanted to delay this, but for him..._ she couldn't finish the thought. Another squeeze shot another gut-full of infectious ruin into the basin. Ever since she'd manifested a genuine Cone Of Power in the Dryad's glade things had been changing, a careless suggestion tied to an unconscious 'influence' could cause lasting harm. A simple 'dip' into someone's mind could now leave them a vegetable, or run the risk of locking her into that particular experience. _Please help me be careful... please help me be helpful..._Tremors wobbled her knees while she thought on her deepest desire through the night, the desire to take it from him, take the pain, make the infection go away, _...and you yell at Sam for giving a little of his life energy? Hypocrite._ She chastised herself and flushed the toilet, glad to have been able to do something, but unsure if it was enough.

She bent over the sink to rinse her mouth and wondered while she looked into the mirror what exactly she was becoming. She watched her eyes move from their natural light brown, through a deep coffee colored brown before blazing a brief fire of amber only to settle back to her normal color. _Not yet, save him first, then vengeance._

"You alright?" Sam asked at the bathroom doorway.

She jumped and he watched color return to her face, for a minute there she'd been absolutely colorless and Sam wasn't sure if she was going to throw up or what.

She nodded joining him in filling the zip-lock bags with more ice.

He wrapped his two bags into towels then wedged them under his big brothers' arms while she placed hers under his knees. With his left leg uncovered Sam was able to see the deep purple edges inside the ring of hot pink that surrounded the puncture wound she'd mentioned earlier. He winced watching as she pressed down in a circle around the furthest edges of the pink area which she'd delineated last night with a pen to keep track of the margins. The infection was clearly fading.

"Uhngh..." he grunted watching light green and red ooze to the surface of the puncture thanks to the pressure she was applying, "God that's gross..." he whispered watching her mop it away wordlessly.

Dean's head whipped to the side and his body jerked. His eyes shot open for a split second as he screamed, "Sammy!" then fell silent and still again, the only sign of his exertion the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and the sound of his ragged breathing.

"T'sokay Dean... I'm here, s'alright, you're gonna be alright, I promise..." he choked tucking the blankets back up to Dean's neck then resting his head on the pillow beside him while petting his sweat soaked hair, "S'gonna be alright, I'm here, I gotcha."

--

end.

Please R&R.

Thanks.

sifi

--

EPILOGUE

The previous evening:

"...forgive me. I just don't understand, after everything... to just... let him go..." he said softly, his fingers stroking her long silky locks while they watched from the window in the loft as the lone survivor limped, hunched, battered and bent out into the forest. They watched him crash head first into a tree and cling to it as if his life depended on it, then after a few moments push himself from the aged creature to continue into the night, led by some inner sense the man at her left could not begin to fathom.

"He alone survived where no others did. Other than that, you need only know that he will lead the way,"

"He may not survive the forest," the man ventured tentatively.

She breathed, the fragile bones of her slight build rising and falling, working to fill her as she tasted the air for a hint of destiny.

"Did you alert the police and tip off the feds?" she asked.

He nodded, "As you instructed. Again, I don't understand... to let him go only to finish what... ahh, I see..." he breathed struck by a sudden insight, the image of the young man she'd spent the afternoon sketching, the one who the double was killed for.

"Mmmm," she breathed, _So you think you do. You do not._ She smiled but said nothing further.

For hours they stood silent, watching until a faint beam glided through the forest then fell away, and still they stood.

He watched as the timbre of her expression changed and the air grew heavy around them both, he watched her lips turn down and the golden locks he loved so dearly began to flutter around her, charged by her fury. He'd seen it before, most recently with her torment of the keeper who'd let the boy get loose in the first place.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked stepping away from her, unable to bear the intensity of the charge surrounding her.

"He... they... are gone...a veil... I am blind to him! To THEM!" she ground through clenched teeth.

"Gone?" he asked.

"Yes, GONE you idiot! What part of GONE don't you get?! Out of my sight, UNABLE to be FOUND, MISSING! GONE! STOLEN!" she railed, turning toward him, the soft, usually impassive twelve year old face beside him twisted and warped, pure fury blazing through her empty eye sockets as she closed on him, repelling him toward the stairs, "You WILL _FIND_ THEM!"

His feet slid down the first few steps as she continued to drive him backward, bowing, needing to turn and run, but unable to do so for fear of what may come of him if he did, "I'll find them... I swear it," he bowed finishing his descent to the ground level where he followed the trail of blood out into the night.

A/N – yes another one – Thanks again for reading and hopefully reviewing.

Any future War fics will pick up almost exactly where the previous ones leave off, so don't hate me too much for keeping you hanging on the cliff's edge here. Please.

The War Has Begun, and the next installment will be titled: Twilight.

Sincerely,

sifi.


End file.
